


"One Night in Istanbul"

by Mooninscorpio



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: AU drama and romance, F/M, Flashbacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 03:17:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1842325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mooninscorpio/pseuds/Mooninscorpio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On May 1, 2011, a newly homeless John Reese remembers today is his birthday.  Despair over losing Jessica five months ago makes him uncharacteristically overly emotional as he confesses to Joan about his past love and loss.  As John reveals his past to the maternal Joan, he notices a turquoise ring and matching bracelet she's wearing. It triggers a long buried memory of another time and place, and another person whom he knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Confession

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Person of Interest Discussion Forum fans](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Person+of+Interest+Discussion+Forum+fans).



from the series, "One Night in Istanbul"

Current location: New York City, lower Manhattan  
Date: May 1, 2011  
Characters: John Reese, ex-CIA op, newly homeless for several months. Joan, middle aged homeless woman whom has befriended him. 

 

(Flashback to May 1, 2011 New York City, cameras: Penn Station)

John H., nee John Reese, newly homeless for two months, sat with a disheveled older woman, on a bench in Penn Station, surrounded by heavy construction tarp and stacks of sheetrock. Their bench was located several hundred feet away from the main passageway and intersecting lobbies leading to all platforms and tracks to all points out of NY. Only late commuters walked swiftly towards their destinations at this time of night. John sat exhaustedly, after a day of scrounging for leftover food in the few trashcans they managed to find in the huge train station. Ever since 9/11, there were hardly any to be found there or elsewhere in the five boroughs. Giuliani had seen to it that no terrorist bombing acts would be committed using trashcans anywhere in the city. John and his street companion, Joan, often sat together behind the tarp, as Port Authority Police never bothered to check for vagrants there. They were always unobtrusive and only sat there after the 11:30 PM trains were called by the train master. Otherwise, they roamed mostly on Eighth or Ninth Ave. finding some peace from hiding underneath the overpass near the river. 

John and Joan forged a rapid liking and understanding towards each other ever since John spotted her near the river on Ninth Ave. He noticed how she liked the stray cats and would feed them the meager rations of french fries she could find near Burger King and he began to "protect" her from the other vagrants who wanted to grab her satchel and blanket. John knew he still had lethal skills underneath his dirty green trench coat, and he already used those skills whenever anyone tried to attack Joan. When she first noticed his lightning like combat skills, she immediately knew she was in the presence of someone who had more than met they eye - she only widened her eyes, and in her Irish accented Brooklynese, shook her head in disbelief saying, "You know how to kick some f ----- ass! You're my St. Michael guardian angel, you are" Then she'd lapse into her usual quiet reveries, only muttering that the almost empty Johnnie Walker she held in her dirty hands was "hitting' the spot". Tonight, she had no liquor, only some greasy pieces of fried chicken in a rumpled bag. She eyed John's Dos Equis beer bottle enviously and he gave her a precious sip, then quickly took it so she wouldn't down it all by herself. As he grabbed the bottle, he saw the date on it: expires 5/1/11. Today, his eyes swept up to the neon train schedule above. Today's my birthday, he suddenly remembered bitterly. No birthday for me, Jessica's with someone else now named Peter. Jessica had a huge engagement ring on her finger and when I couldn't tell her that I couldn't wait for her, she told me in so many words that I was a coward, that I wanted to really be alone. That my job, my life was more important to me, alone, than with her. Despair suddenly overwhelmed him, and he bent his head down, the hot tears threatening to fall down his grimy cheeks and beard. He knew Joan was studying him, and he felt her hand on his arm, "what's up St. Michael? Miss someone?" She was amazingly astute and sensitive, for a woman living on the hellish streets of NY. John couldn't tell her anything about his personal life, for fear of the CIA labeling him a wanted man here and abroad and he didn't want to jeopardize Joan's own life, should they force her to talk about his whereabouts. He'd already shown too much of his physical prowess and didn't want her to add up too many clues about himself. He glanced at her hand and noticed a large round turquoise ring she wore with a matching bracelet. A vague memory stirred in his alcohol laden mind, someone wearing that color, then it vanished. Jessica's disillusioned and upset facial expression once again flashed before him, for the thousandth time, and the hot tears began to trickle down his cheeks as he looked away. "Honey just tell me what's up, you know I seen everything, been there, done that. Nothin' freaks me out" What the hell, I'll tell her a little bit, just enough, so she'll stop pestering me tonight, i'll be dead anyway in a month or two, what does it matter? He sat up straighter, and looking into her eyes seriously, through the drunken haze he was in, he saw her genuine concern for him, saw something motherly in the way she cocked her head and pressed on his arm. 

"Joan, I lost -- I lost someone,---special, about five months ago. It was my fault." he looked down at his old steel toe boots. He took a breath and slowly continued, " I saw her for a few minutes at the airport, after not seeing her for years, last person I expected to see. I was working for some people, I couldn't tell her anything about it. We were seeing each other for awhile and then for 6 or 7 years, I hadn't heard from her. My job took me away from her even though we tried to keep in touch. I saw an engagement ring on her finger and she saw that I noticed it. She told me she was engaged. The way she said it, it sounded half-hearted like she didn't love the man 100%. Because she asked me, if I'd asked her to, she'd wait for me." he paused for breath and composure. Joan squeezed his arm to go on. "I couldn't tell her that I'd wait for her or that she could wait for me. Because of this job I had ---I couldn't make her a part of my world because of it. I'd done things, things she'd be horrified --" he suddenly stopped speaking and looked at Joan, closing his eyes regretfully at everything he' revealed. 

Joan sized him up in an instant, the job he couldn't talk about, the woman he loved and couldn't make a part of that world, his dangerously lethal fighting skills, his reticence about his past. All of it spelled ex-military, or dangerous ex-operative. She'd had sons in Vietnam who'd come back shell shocked, on drugs to get through its horrors there and back in civilian life. One of her sons was in the Green Berets and when he returned to a thankless and hostile U.S., he became a belligerent and hateful husband and father to his family and to his own alcoholic mother as well. For Joan had secrets of her own too, that she hadn't shared with John. That was for another night. 

John recalled the night he received the unexpected phone message from Jessica, asking for him to come and help her, her voice sounding panicked and fearful. Snow denied him personal leave, and questioned his mention of "needing to see family". He took another small sip of warm beer.  
"I got a call from her, asking for help and when I asked for time off, my boss said no, I had an important job to do and once I had done it I could have all the leave I wanted. I had no choice" John looked out beyond Joan's searching look. "When I was finished and able to get to her, it was too late, months too late, and she was ---was " he couldn't go on anymore. He bent his head in his hands, remembering the helpless rage he'd felt after he watched Jessica's wedding video in her empty home, Peter's entrance and ensuing fight with him. 

"She married that bastard and he made her life hell, and I wasn't able to get there in time to save her!" 

Joan's jaw dropped as she heard John's tragic story for the first time. She saw the guilt, the despair and the descent into hell all of his tragic loss had brought him to. She took his diheveled head in her hands and cradled him in her arms like one of her long lost sons, rocking him and crooning "poor baby, my poor St. Michael" over and over. The lights dimmed at the train station just then, three a.m.


	2. The Turquoise Ring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John reveals to Joan an almost forgotten cherished memory back in 2008 where he was on assignment in Turkey. Short chapter, leading into a much longer one.

Ch. 2 "The Turquoise Ring"

The night passed quietly for John and Joan, as they dozed fitfully on the bench at Penn Station. The lull of late night commuters almost came to a standstill at 1:30 a.m.  
Joan watched John as he slept and her hand was on his blanket. John awoke, temporarily thinking he was in his old farm in Pullayup, WA sleeping in his Dad's barn among the bales of haystacks. The dusty scent of the drywall returned to his awareness, as he suddenly remembered where he was, New York City, homeless, without money, job or family. He looked at the hand across his blanket, and noticed a large, shiny turquoise ring. More sober now, he noticed a matching bracelet, tarnished but still wearable, like the ring. Where had she gotten those? he wondered. Maybe at one of the street vendors booths that lined Eighth Ave. His mind went back in time, to another place, in his dark years working for them, around 2007 or 2008, when I was in Turkey, when they sent us together to deliver 2 packages, who had intel on some computer software codes. Stanton and me in Istanbul working separately for awhile, then hooking back up after the 2 were tracked, and the information retrieved from them. But they were ahead of us ten steps, they escaped across the border into Russia. 

He looked at Joan's costume jewelry again, his mind trying to recall something, someone, in Istanbul. For reveal minutes, he concentrated on the thought, exhausted as he was in thinking about anything from his past. Joan narrowed her eyes, and shifted under the blanket, "you looking at my nice ring?"  
"Yeah, where'd you get it?" he stared at it longer. She laughed proudly, "got it at that Indian vendor on Eighth, just before the guy closed for the night! Took it from the box he still had out on the sidewalk by his suitcase and table." She saw his intent expression, and asked softly "you seen this somewhere else? Maybe someplace else?"  
John looked at her, speechless for a moment, and asked her incredulously, "how the hell do you do that, Joan? asking me just like that out of nowhere?" Joan could've been an expert psychologist or better yet, a very low-keyed but effective interrogator for the agency. "Well, I know men, and I know when they look at jewelry, they're thinking one thing. Either somebody they remember, or someone they wanna buy for." She instantly regretted her words, remembering his confusion of a few hours ago.  
"Im sorry, honey. i say stuff before I think! " John shook his head forgiving her impulsiveness. "No, no - you're right. That ring does remind me of something - somebody. Somebody else, not her." John began to recall in more detail, just who it was. The memory resurfaced after years of buried memories of other, more despicable things he'd done, and others had done to him, like layers of the drywall surrounding him now. Joan was quiet, expectant, as John was unusually talkative about his preciously guarded private life and she instinctively felt that tonight her young St. Michael would let his shield down and trust her with his story. 

"I met someone else. During one of my jobs." John closed his eyes, seeing small wayward streets, the glow of lights from cafes, the smell of lamb tagine and exotic perfume, a crowded dining room lounge in a big chain hotel somewhere very far from Pullayup, WA. 

"Her name was Feyrouz" John whispered softly, with a wistful look on his bearded face. Joan gazed at him with relish, as he said the foreign name, and pressed his arm again, "We got all night honey, tell Joanie 'bout her"

John gazed past the big blinking neon train schedule and his memories reverted back to a face he'd compartmentalized in a part of his brain he called "the real John".


	3. One Sunday Night In Istanbul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Reese, on assignment with Kara Stanton, to track down two spies in Istanbul, having crucial intel regarding extremely secret computer software codes which even the highest echelons of the US gov't are not even aware of. Shey have a few days apart to find the spies, extract the vital information, and "clean up their mess". John is extremely relieved to distance himself from Stanton. Little did he know that he would meet someone, who will make his stay in Istanbul a memorable one.

John exits the elevator, and quickly scans the ornate lounge bar off to the right of the reception desk. A few couples sitting around the low couches, drinking quietly. No one looks at him, no one looks him over suspiciously, no one like himself, standing near exits or blending in the background with studied nonchalance. He walks towards the bar, in plain sight, as it's said, orders a local beer and asks for an appetizer. He notices a larger curtained entrance past the bar, where he hears the sound of applause, and a lively tempo playing from unfamiliar instruments to the Western ear. John asks the bartender what will take place in the dining room. The swarthy man announces in heavily accented English, "There is a show beginning any moment now. ' gesturing to John to head over with his beer. John tips him quickly and finds a solo table off to the side of the stage before him. A group of traditionally dressed musicians begin a slow violin introduction, and from the far left, all eyes are on a young veiled figure, all in white and gold. One of the musicians announces the dancer's name in Turkish. The applause grows louder as she walks center stage. Two violins play the introduction as the young dancer begins to lift her covered arms above her head, weaving the sheer turquoise veil above her head, her back to the audience. The violins subside, a momentary silence, she slants the veil down her shoulders, across her back and drops one hand below her waist, and then she turns sideways, and her profile begins to show. The clinks of dinnerware dropping on plates is heard, and all eyes expectantly look up. The rhythmic staccato of a dumbek and oud break the silence and the dancer finally turns to face the audience. John puts his beer down, and stares at the dancer, and the sounds around him dim, for the next 10 magical minutes, as he watches, entranced, as every man in the room is, as the young dancer undulates her hips to the sensuous beat and works her art on the senses.

John had been in many countries in the Middle East, mostly as an enlisted soldier, serving as a Ranger, a Green Beret and in Special Forces, where he rose quickly to Master Sergeant, with exceptional skills, almost 9-12 years of long and dangerous service to his country. He was granted some leave in between tours, and sometimes frequented local cafes and had seen some exotic dancers in Saudi Arabia, Iraq, and Morocco. He had seen them all, young, slender ones, older curvy ones, with a bit more tummy roll than westernized men were accustomed to, experienced ones with too much makeup, and young fledglings, too nervous to totally engage in the totality of their performance. With trained observation, he attempted to size this one up, but came up short. She was young, mid to late 20's, classically Turkish with slightly slanted eyes, straight dark hair, tiny waisted, curves in all the right places, exquisite feet decked in gold sandals, and a natural born dancer, effortless in her hip isolations and musical timing. She danced with the music, not to it. But John was inexplicably drawn to her face … to his amazement, she reminded him somehow, of Jessica. Her prominent dark eyebrows, heart shaped face, and her eyes, deep set and dark blue, had an expression in them as if she were seeing past all the lustful glances and indifferent diners, looking past what she was actually doing. He saw an untouched, unattainable quality in her, despite her expertise and ease of movement. For the next several minutes, John's mind vacillated between Jessica and this enchanting unknown dancer. The music began to soar as it picked up tempo and she began to shimmy to the quickening drumbeats. The crowd clapped and whistled appreciatively as she matched in perfect sync, the dumbek's changing tempos. John's thoughts abruptly halted back to reality as applause fills the room, and the dancer stands, posing on one bent leg, her head thrown back. 

John sits in a daze, as he orders another beer, and the intermission music fills the room. He hears some of the diners speaking in Spanish, and he understands they are waxing eloquently about the bellydancer. "Come se llama?" (what is her name?) asks one portly man to another one wearing a Havana shirt. "Yo creo ella se llama Ferusa" (I believe her name is Feyrouza) in his accented pronunciation. John doesn't know enough Turkish to inquire so he tries to listen to the Spanish speaking tourists. In a few minutes, the musicians re-appear onstage and then she is announced: " I tanitmak Feyrouz" (I introduce Feyrouz) The audience claps and whistles anew, as the music begins again. To everyone's delight, the dancer appears as a silhouette onstage, the faint blue and gold colors of her costume visible, and the outline of a curved object in her hand. The darbuka begins a low rolling rhythm and a ney joins in a slow rising melody. The stage remains dim as she raises her arm above her head, wielding her sword like a scythe, and as the lights gradually highlight her swirling skirt, John is once again fascinated by her skillful dexterity as she balances the sharp gleaming blade on her hip, fluidly and continuously hip tilting to the strong solo drum. John watches as she switches the sword to her head and bending on one knee, rolls her abdomen in isolated movements as the sword gently rests on her headgear. The audience is in suspense as to her next move, as she takes the sword and places it on her chest while kneeling, and arching backwards, the sword perched over her bra, her arms making sinuous movements above her head while undulating her abdomen. The audience collectively gasps, as she rises on her feel without tipping the sword off her body, and for a long moment, as she turns to balance the sword once again over her right hip. At that moment, her eyes stray to the man sitting by himself, off to the side, both her and John's eyes meet. Hers widen as she gazes into the most beautiful blue eyes she has ever seen, in a man, and John, slowly feels the heat rise to his face, as she stands only a few feet away from him, a vision in blue turquoise and gold balancing the curved sword like a feather, over her hip, her eyes like deep pools of water, gazing at him with such self-possession and a hint of youthful vulnerability. He was completely entranced, his problems forgotten for one night. 

Fifteen minutes later: John steps out by the hotel pool, beside a small row of cypress trees to breath some fresh cool air, away from the incessant smoking and cheap cologne. He hears a door open behind him and as he turns, surprised at the intrusion, he sees her, the dancer, walking outside, wearing a light shawl around her shoulders. She has come out for some air too, and the breeze blows her hair around her shoulders. She sits at one of the benches, holding a glass of water. She sees a man standing near the trees and as she watches him intently, he turns towards her slowly, and she recognizes him as the man sitting by himself at the rear table. The man with the beautiful blue eyes. She rises, and walks towards him, not knowing why, except the night is cool and her cheeks feel like they're burning, the way he approaches her gracefully, like a sleek panther, in his dark clothes. 

"Hello" he whispers, not knowing if she will speak in English. He sees her smile a little, and that up close her eyes really are blue, in her otherwise very ethnic features. "I very much enjoy your dancing" he said haltingly, unused to just engaging in conversation with foreign women. Especially very young ones. She nodded as if she understood. To the burning question of the night now - he asked it, "what is your name?" She studied him for several moments, looked at his hands, noticed no ring, that he was by himself tonight and she gathered all the youthful courage, introducing herself, "I am Feyrouz" her voice is husky and direct, sounding the way foreign women in this part of the world speak. Simple, direct and vulnerably young, John surmised of her, while she looked up at him wondering what he would say next. "My name is John" he answers , just as simply. She notices his dark suit, his military style watch, his quiet, unassuming demeanor, yet watchful of his surroundings. Having seen many patrons at her job, she guesses that he may be in the military or working for the U.S. government. She sees that beyond his air of solemn watchfulness, that he appears to be very self-contained, yet, protective. He sees a group of men in a corner looking their way, and he is instantly on alert, she notices. He almost leans into her protectively for a moment, but all he says is, "what does your name mean?" Slightly surprised at the question, her face takes on a pleased look, before lowering her gaze, and saying in that enchanting husky voice, "it means turquoise gem". She smiles a little again, then turns to go back inside. Her number is coming up.


	4. "Finding The Turquoise Gem"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is unable to put Jessica out of his mind, and unable to reconcile his past with his present way of life, he leaves his hotel room, and coincidentally, runs into the dancer, Feyrouz on her way to dance at the hotel tonight. They have their first conversation, as they walk back to the hotel together. He watches another dance routine of hers, and before the night is over, he definitely wants to see more of her.

Ch. 3 " Finding the Turquoise Gem" from the series "One Night in Istanbul"

 

Tuesday: 

After a long, hot day attempting to trail one of the spies all over the north side of the city and Stanton's sarcastic remarks over the phone today about his lame Boy Scout techniques, John sat sprawled on the hotel couch, staring out onto the city's skyline, unable to relax. His mind dwelled on Jessica's engagement, and his inability to quit his job and get her back into his life again, eating away at him. He missed her terribly, and she'd never know now. He was in the Army too long, sleeping among Special Ops like himself, too many simultaneous tours, without personal time off on leave. Then he got the attention of the CIA, recruiting the idealist in him and life was upside down, ever since/ With ties cut off to Jessica and with his parents both gone, he had no more family to speak of. Stanton had an abnormal power trip for torture and killing, and then expected John to have sex with her in almost the same harsh fashion. John was repelled at Kara's penchant for this type of twisted bonding, yet, he too, was like a coiled bundle of pent up nerves and hormones after their joint assignments. He knew that she wanted him from the first time she became his handler, and John made sure he gave her as good as he got, knowing the power he had over her in his own quietly lethal way. It was too much for his normal self to process. Disgusted with himself, he reached for his jacket and decided to take a walk a few blocks away from the hotel. It was 9:15 P.M. and the night was long and lonely. The small side streets were quiet, the sounds of a few tourists making their way back to their rooms. John saw a young couple kissing underneath a shop awning and he quaffed thoughts of Jessica and her new man, trying to regain his usual vigilant mindset. 

He walked by a row of whitewashed apartments with old shutters covering the windows, facing each other on both sides of the narrow street. One of the doors creaked open, and saw a young girl walking out of the third apartment building across the street.   
She was wearing a costume underneath a long light oversized shawl which covered most of it. It was the dancer, Feyrouz, from the hotel, walking alone, carrying a large bag over her shoulder headed towards there. He felt an unaccustomed tinge of anticipation, as he raised his hand in greeting. He called out her name, tentatively, not wanting to scare her off. She stopped in her tracks, peering at the tall man in the dark outfit, and finally recognizing him, she raised her hand in greeting. John approached her trying his best to appear calm and friendly, "Are you dancing at the hotel tonight?". He saw her brush her hair from her eyes and readjust her bag. She nodded silently and answered with a question of her own, "How long are you in Istanbul?" She couldn't help looking into his eyes again. He had an aura of someone always on alert, watching, sizing up people and situations. Yet his expression was somehow, yearning for something. He returned her gaze, just as directly. His next words had the air of finality to them.  
"Only until Sunday morning, Feyrouz" he said her name aloud, trying to say it authentically. "May I walk you to the hotel?" he asked politely and offered to carry her heavy bag of dance accessories. She hands him her bag, and their fingers against each other's for a few seconds. They walk silently, and John caught her looking sidelong at him a few times. He tells her that his job is short here, and when he leaves, it may be quite a long time until he might return back to Istanbul. She is intrigued by his answer but doesn't press for any more information. Keeping the topic away from himself, he asks her how long she has been dancing, and in a few words, reveals to him that the baladi was taught to her since age five, she lived alone but close to some cousins, and her father had passed away five years ago, and her mother, too grief stricken, had taken her own life. Too young for such tragedy. Just like me, alone in the world, he muses to himself. "If you want, I can walk you to work every night until I leave on Sunday" he offers, before knowing what he has said. Only that he truly missed protecting people, especially women who looked like they needed protecting. Feyrouz thanked him with an affirmative nod, before she entered the hotel's employees entrance. He went to the bar and ordered two beers, tipped the bartender quickly, and found a seat inside the dinner lounge. In a few minutes, the musicians take their places, warm up quickly and the show begins. A long flourishing drum solo. The lights dim as the curtains part from stage left. He sees her coming onstage almost in total darkness. The spotlight grows brighter as she appears in a beautiful vintage costume, her head and lower half of her face covered in a sequined veil which she waved in time to the Egyptian style cabaret music. John's eyes fell to her diamond studded navel and brocaded hip belt. He leaned forward as she covered and uncovered herself with her flowing veil. The older patrons clapped appreciatively at her choice of traditional 1920's music and costuming. Her slow piece came to a close and she stopped. The dumbek and tabla began a rapid duo and Feyrouz dazzled the audience with her shimmies, isolations, and smiles. She saw John leaning forward, his hand over his mouth, smiling at her. She was intrigued, hopeful and happy that he'd sought her out tonight. She felt especially alive tonight since he was obviously enjoying herself. The music finally ended, and loud cheers and applause filled the lounge, as she bowed and exited the stage. John knew it was completely out of character for him, but he went to the bar and plucking a small bouquet of flowers from the bunches for sale there, he paid, then walked outside to the employee's entrance door, hoping to meet her again.


	5. "Yearning"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The name of Feyrouz's dance number - the way john feels when he watches her dance and afterwards, back at his hotel room.

Ch. 5 "Yearning" from the series "One Night in Istanbul"

 

Wednesday:

John leaves the hotel at 9:15 P.M. having checked with the receptionist, whether there will be any events tonight at the hotel. Dinner and entertainment at 9:45, a dance troupe called "The King's Daughters" and Feyrouz dancing twice before and after the troupe's routine. John is elated, as he walks towards her apartment, hoping to find her leaving soon. She appears across the street exactly at 9:20 P.M. She walks towards the corner, and spots him walking towards her. 

He waves at her, and she is wearing the same sweater but a pair of white harem pants, it appears. She holds out her hand to shake his and in a moment of long lost chivalry, he takes it and very gently kisses her fingers. "Thank you for allowing me to walk with you." he whispers. She is taken by surprise, not expecting this small gesture. However, she says nothing more, and lets him take her by the arm, as they walk silently to the hotel's back entrance, near the stage and single dressing room. Before she enters it, she turns to him and says in her husky voice, "wait for me after". John feels as if this moment is a prize he has won after a very long and grueling contest. "Yes, I'll wait for you." he promises.   
The words are almost choked out of him, as he suddenly remembers, that he'd said those words to himself earlier this year, when he bumped into Jessica at the airport. After she turned around and left him standing by himself, alone, tears welling up in his eyes as she disappeared from his life forever. Feyrouz looks at his suddenly melancholy expression and lightly touches his arm, repeating, "yes, wait for me." She turns into the dressing room and John returns his usual table off to the side, and orders a light dinner. He feels very hungry tonight. 

John notices a billboard in back of the bar counter, highlighting tonight's entertainment. The King's Daughters dance troupe, of twelve, the opening act featuring two numbers,  
and Feyrouz performing twice, the routines all in unintelligible Turkish. John would be surprised. Forty five minutes at least, of non-stop exoticness. The crowd was attended by more women tonight, wanting something to do. John did a mental math check and concluded that she'd be done by ten-thirty, and he would insist on walking her home again. So little time, and she was so young, enticing and -- so unlike anyone he'd ever met. He wanted to feel human again, for at least a night, if that was all he'd be given in his dangerous existence. John had never mingled work and personal needs, it was too dangerous and often, after he and Stanton were done with their rough private sessions, all he wanted to do was sleep away the shame of himself and disgust of her. Tonight, alone, away from his corrupt handler, he would walk Feyrouz home and hope for the best. 

John watched the colorful spectacle of twelve women, all in black and red, in unison, dancing a female warrior sword dance. Perfectly in time, each so close with their blades, that it was a wonder no one had their hair accidentally cut off, or injured. The music was stirring, filled with lively 9/16 beats, and just drum solos, with wailing sound of the ney wafting throughout the room. The crowd burst into delightful applause at the sight of the beautiful, elegant dancers, each fit to be a king's daughter. John, anxious to watch Feyrouz, hurried to finish his dinner, and sit back with his glass of beer. The stage lights dimmed, and the curtain parted. A hush fell over the crowd, as Feyrouz stepped onstage. John's jaw dropped at the sight of her in her costume: a stunning turquoise form-fitting double slit skirt, with matching diamond studded bra, strands of small silver chains circling over her abdomen. and over it all, a sheer white veil covering her shoulders. The sound of string instruments began a solo melody, and the crowd began to applaud. It was the classic "Yearning" by Raul Ferrando, every dancer's favorite show stopper.   
The waves of longing heard in the slow melody found its way into Feyrouz's fluid undulations, use of the swirling veil, and using the low ottoman onstage, she resembled a young and yearning lover. John couldn't take her eyes off of her and for the first time in ages, he felt normal stirrings, without the ugliness and shame. Feyrouz saw John watching her intently, and she stayed close to his side of the stage throughout the rest of her thrilling dance. John felt as if she were just dancing for him alone, whenever she returned to his side of the room or looked his way. John knew that before the week was over, he had to find a way to be with her. 

Later that night: John waited for her outside by the back door of the hotel, and finally, at ten-forty, saw her leaving for home. She didn't have her bag with her, only her purse and her shawl over her elbow. Feyrouz noticed him waiting, as promised. He felt a pang of rare uplifting emotion at the sight of her again, as promised. John smiled, "you danced so beautifully tonight, more than the other nights" He gently took the shawl and draped it very slowly over her shoulders. He smelled lily of the valley on her neck, and it was all he could do to step back, and bury his face in her neck, as he struggled to restrain his emotions and his betraying body. "Thank you John." she murmured into her shawl as she felt his hands on her bare shoulders sending shivers down her back. Feyrouz thought she had seen all men on every continent visit her city, stay at the hotel where she danced, and she was all professional, never mixing her art and personal space with the guests. But this one, John, without a last name, with eyes like the crystal blue morning waters of the Bosphorus, that seemed to look through her soul, was only going to be here until Sunday morning, he regretfully mentioned. And she was twenty-six and still unexperienced. The ten minute walk was all too short, as they walked in mostly silence, glancing at each other sideways. John was almost positive Feyrouz was a virgin. His shocking thought came out of somewhere he hadn't been in a long while. He'd heard about some Turkish customs, where some women still held on tightly to their most valuable asset. 

Before she enters her front door, she turns to him, and dares to ask "John, what is it you do?" He hesitates, fearing rejection yet wanting to tell her as much truth as he can, says "I work for my country. It's very dangerous work, I lost someone special because of it. It was my decision to keep my job, to not let her find out, what I do, and I lost her because I did not want her to know what I did, and after a time, she found someone else" John was shocked at his uncharacteristic candor, to someone he hardly knew, probably nearly fifteen years younger than himself. Feyrouz nodded, and suddenly understood, the full import of his words, of his clandestine work. She was right all along. He was definitely working for intelligence. She had some male relatives who used to work in similar fields for the government, and she knew their mannerisms, but she only said, "I'm sorry you lost someone special. I hope you will be happy again." He looked at her, so young yet wise in her silent acceptance,

On a sudden impulse, he touched her cheek very tentatively, "I have been happy here these past days, since seeing you dance, and walking with you like this." She put her hand on his wrist. as he touched her, and he bent to kiss her then, his lips on hers, gently kissing her small full lips. She saw his beautiful eyes and high cheekbones so close to her. She felt as if she would faint from the feel of his body against hers. Feyrouz leaned into John and felt his arms wrapping around her protectively. He buried his nose in her slender neck, smelling the scent of lily of the valley. His lips found hers again, and John knew she was too young for him, and couldn't help himself anyway. She was so young yet obviously attracted to him, and he was who he was. Jessica was lost to him forever, and his soul was already lost to himself long ago. If he died in Istanbul on assignment, he wanted one last night of happiness. Was it too much to ask, after everything he'd lost in his life?

They pulled apart reluctantly. Feyrouz was at her doorway. She turned to him and said, "I am free tomorrow night. Come to see me tomorrow eight o'clock. We don't have much time together John." she hands him a small note. He reads it in the dark, "F." Apt. #4C. Stunned, he nods and agrees to do so. "Thank you" he takes her hand again, brings it to his lips, and he tries to walk down the street as calmly as he can, unaware that she watches him, marveling at his elegant stride, his self-composure. 

Back at the hotel, he undresses for bed. Locking the door, and keeping his gun under the bed, he tries to sleep, but sleep didn't come for a long time. He had a date tomorrow night - how long has it been since he last had a date? Not since his early days in the Green Berets, when off base on rare leave time. Not since Jessica and he first met and were getting to know each other. He was in his early forties now- he was in Istanbul, for a short time, God knows if he'd leave the city alive in his line of work.


	6. "One Night In Istanbul"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ferouz is off for the night and John takes her up on her invitation and visits her in her apartment with a small gift he has brought for her. Feyrouz has a far more valuable "gift" she gives John and when morning comes, John leaves the gift and a note beside it.

Ch. 6 "One Night in Istanbul" 

Thursday:

Six-thirty, early evening: John begins to pack his suitcase, anticipating an early change in plans, his mind heavy at the thought of having to leave just as he was getting to know the lovely Feyrouz. Stanton had called him that morning informing him that they will wrap up their Istanbul assignment on Sat. morning and a flight being arranged for them to leave for Morocco, at 7:30 P.M. John has heard from the reception desk that there will be no dancing tonight, as that is the day off for the entertainers. He wonders whether he should try to see her, early that evening, at her apartment. She struck a chord deep in his psyche, for some unfathomable reason. Maybe her slight resemblance to Jessica, or was this only a lonely man's fantasy in a foreign country? He sat on the too-soft hotel couch, his tall frame sinking uncomfortably. Impatiently, he rose to get his jacket, wanting to go out. It was now or never again, he vowed. Men like him don't have time to postpone some things in life, and this was one of those things. Jessica was no longer in love with him, she'd found someone named Peter, and he'd be a better choice for her, instead of the man he'd become these past few years. John walked towards the small row of whitewashed apartments, hoping to find his way to Feyrouz's apartment, for some much deserved respite from his dark memories. 

He enters the narrow foyer and finds the row of names on the buzzer system, scanning the faded labels for an initial, "F" and to his chagrin, he didn't know her last name. Luckily, there was only one label with "F' and a last name he couldn't even pronounce. He pressed the buzzer which rang weakly, He recognized her voice on the other end, questioning his identity. "Feyrouz, it's John. May I see you?" has asked anxiously, as nervous as if he were in his twenties himself. A louder buzzer sounded as she said "Yes, o.k. John" and the front door unlocked as the alarm turned green. He entered and climbed to the fourth floor, apartment 4C. He held a small package in his hand, something he'd found in a bazar that morning, which reminded him of her. He would give it to her as a little gift, and see what would happen.

She opened the door and saw John standing there, dressed casually, wearing a blue shirt, wonderfully complementing his eyes, dark slacks, and black leather jacket, and carrying a small package in his hand. "Hello Feyrouz", he extended his hand, to give her the gift, "This is for you, hope you like it" Her blue eyes softened at the sight of him looking so sincere. "I have the night free" she said in her direct way, and gestured towards her small living area. "please come in" she led the way inside. She wore a lovely long dress the color of sea foam, with small silvery threads and her hair was loose. 

John saw the simply furnished living room, cleanly kept, with flowers and plants covering the windowsills, all in blue, gold accents on some cushions, and one or two large paintings, curiously, one painting of the NY skyline. She noticed him looking at it and she quickly explained "I have been to New York once, when I was still in school. I have some family there." He was surprised to hear the tidbit of family information.   
Maybe explaining her decent command of English. John accepted the beverage she brought out to him, as well as the comfortable recliner chair. He watched her as walked back into the living room, and marveled at how self sufficient she was at such a young age, and wondered how she could sustain herself, only dancing for a living. He scanned the room for clues: books on travel to the U.S., some board games and toys, perhaps children who visit her, rows of DVDs, CDs and a small desk with colorful writing paper, and a photo on her desk, a young girl, herself, her parents, wearing dress clothes. Her mother, appearing of Western European descent and her father, more Middle Eastern. She noticed him looking at it, and handed it to him. "My parents, and myself. I was sixteen. The picture was taken while we were in New York, at my uncle's house. My mother was American but originally from Germany, and my father of course, Turkish. John gazed into her dark blue eyes, blue like her mother's. "Your parents? Do they live ---" he started to ask. She shook her head and looked down at her beverage. "They are, separated, how do you say, in English ---di --divorced. My mother worked for the German Embassy here in Istanbul and my father left us soon after we returned from N.Y." She looked slightly upset, obviously not wanting to discuss. John noticed her discomfort and changed the subject. "Do you have another job besides dancing?" He scanned the quality furnishing she owned. She took a sip and keeping her gaze on his hands, she explained "I help ill older people in their homes, who are ill, who need looking after. I work whenever they need me." He took her free hand and held it near his lips, "You're a good person the world can't afford to lose". She stood up to take his empty glass. John still sat in his low chair. Silence filled the small apartment, only the clock ticking. Time flying and I'll never see her again, he desperately thought. 

Before he knew what he was doing, he slid down to his knees, and his hands grasped her hips, drawing her closer. She looked down at him, and saw his beautiful long lashes close up as he brought his lips to kiss her navel, his face buried in the sheer fabric of her dress. She felt her legs weaken and he caught her waist just in time, before she fell on her knees in front of him. They kissed again, this time, longer. John knowing he would lose all sense of restraint, if he stayed with her much longer.

"Do you want to --?" he brushed the hair from her face. Feyrouz looked at John, knowing she was with someone way over her head in experience and age. She knew for certain hiss work was dangerous, as he gave nothing of himself away, except for a few details of his lost love. Enough for her to know that he was single, unattached. He looked like he wouldn't hurt her and be patient with her. She dared to risk all tonight and she let him lift her up to her feet. "Yes, yes, John. But go slowly. I've never been with anyone ---" she finally admitted. He lifted her up then, her long dress falling over his arms, and carried her into her bedroom. He lay her down gently and slowly, as she hoped he would do. Slowly, he began to teach her what he knew. He allowed out "the real John" compartment in his mind, his heart, the human side of himself. The side that they hadn't managed to totally destroy. She saw his elegant hands unbutton, untie and finally undress her and himself. She was afraid of the unknown, yet, since he confessed that it was quite some time for him too, Feyrouz saw that that he would try to make this special for her. For my first time, I want someone like him, she realized. 

Minutes lengthened into an hour, then another, and hours turned into the night together. John made love to her slowly, waiting for her trust him, and after he patiently waited for her to relax, she experienced her first time. John hadn't remembered when the last time he was with someone like her and his senses were completely undone by her unbridled responses to his touch. He was human again, totally renewed by her trust and passion. He wanted her to remember her first time as her best time. Pain became pleasure for her until John could no longer wait and she no longer wanted him to go slowly any longer. John felt her hips undulating to his, better than any dance she knew. He had never felt this incredible with anyone for so long. John would come back to Istanbul again someday, and find her. How could he forget someone like her? They made love all night, without stopping, only to doze lightly. Again, they awoke, and reached for each other once again until the early morning hours. John awoke and kissing Feyrouz lightly, he dressed, and left the package by her outstretched hand on the bed. He dressed quietly and quickly and left her a short note. He had written: "Thank you for one night in Istanbul I will never forget as long as I live, and wherever I may be in the world, one day I will look for you again. If you ever need me, just call me." 

And then he did the unthinkable, and left her his private cell phone number not even- Stanton, Snow and his unnamed superior knew about. It was his private cell number he'd use if he needed to escape great peril. He placed the note underneath the small gift and looking at his Feyrouz possibly one last time, he silently left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue:
> 
> John Reese leaves Istanbul for Morocco that Saturday, never to say goodbye to Feyrouz. Yet, he had given her his private cellphone number and unknown to her, he had added her number to his contacts list, while she lay sleeping early the morning he left her apt. 
> 
> After John's near fatal assignment in Ordos, he escaped the Chinese border via South Korea, and unable to fly home from there, he made a very long, dangerous trek back to the U.S. via the Middle East and stopped in Instanbul, with the aide of secret allies owing him favors. 
> 
> John attempted to contact Feyrouz by phone and was successful. However much as he wanted to see her again, it would greatly endanger her life, by association with him should he be followed by the CIA, now that he had been associated with the mysterious Laptop in Ordos, presumed "dead" and living off the grid. 
> 
> In 2013, now saving Irrelevant lives via The Machine, during the events in the episode "4C" is seen boarding a plane to Istanbul, supposedly to leave Team Machine, and seeking a life off the grid with someone who can connect him to the world again - Feyrouz, in Istanbul, but as already known, the Machine had other plans for him instead. John Reese never got to Istanbul to see his unforgettable Feyrouz. Yet, to this day, she still carries his phone number and he still has hers … from the time he left her, all the way through Ordos, through the time of the Machine mission with Harold Finch, and now, as John Reese, ordinary man living in NYC post-Season 3 finale Deus Ex Machina. 
> 
> Author's Note: I will keep this story open to future chapters, as John Reese lives through his ordinary life in Season 4 Person of Interest. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Research sources obtained for this story were through Wikipedia, Google Translator assistance for various foreign language phrases, Middle Eastern Dance terms and musical pieces via actual author's experience taking Middle Eastern Turkish and Egyptian folk dance classes. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
